Our Empire
Chapter One: A Whole New World

There's something intriguing in the way 'Mitchell' moves across the room, drink in hand, chatting up every woman she comes to. Though there's something even more intriguing in the way Beca looks into Chloe's eyes across the room, how they catch glances. And forbidden love is always the best kind.

AN: Welcome to chapter one of the rewritten Our Empire. I shan't explain why, but it's easier for me this way. I'm excited for this fic, and I think you'll really enjoy it. You can find an entire masterlist dedicated to the fic at [ breeposens dot tumblr dot com slash ou ].

There are areas of the world where people hold the same, to the t, morning routine dear. It's an unspoken agenda passed telepathically and through contracts- signed upon the dotted line. 'If you want to keep this job, you need to do a, b and c by x time' it'll say, bonding the proletariat to the bourgeoisie's grasp. Everyone in New York City seems to abide to the same early start and late finish, Chloe's discovered, despite being in a tired haze since her arrival a month ago. Even as she bashes her hand against the alarm clock beside her bed, she knows it's way too early for anyone to seriously contemplate leaving bed- and that's coming from a morning person. But, much like New York's 8 million other inhabitants, she has a job to go to.

Checking her appearance in the mirror, Chloe smiles to herself. Her pick blouse, freshly ironed, falls perfectly on her frame, and matched with a black pencil skirt, she feels ready to walk into a highly respected fashion house. And even if being an assistant at Millennia isn't the most glamourous job in the world, it's a start (and she knows how to do it correctly, which helps).

Her rush to the subway isn't glamorous either. The jacket which keeps her warm on the streets is too hot down in the pit of bodies, and the stench of bodily fluids from the partiers of Sunday night infiltrates her nose with its putrid stink. As she wrestles her way into a seat, she has to take a moment to relax and breathe, because she can only bet that her day will get worse than it already is.

Eventually, Chloe closes the issue of Marie Claire which sits open in her lap. The message from the editor includes a less than subtle endorsement of Hillary Clinton, and she swears that magazines like those are meant to be impartial. Though, she isn't entirely sure about anything anymore- her life has kind of been turned upside down, plus she has the journey to Millennia's offices to go yet.

Getting out of the subway isn't quite as bad as finding an initial seat, but her feet are really beginning to hurt as they're being squashed into the nicest shoes Chloe owns. They're gorgeous, but uncomfortable- note to self she supposes. As she walks into the building which houses Millennia's offices, she wanders towards the elevator and tries desperately to remember what floor she's going to. Her worries are stopped in their tracks, however, when she notices the distinctive logo beside the backlit number twenty-one.

The atmosphere of the office is such a juxtaposition to anything Chloe's experienced before. So as she walks up to the front desk and addresses the thin woman behind it, she finds herself falling into a sense of awkwardness.

"Hi." Chloe can feel her contagious smile spreading widely over her face, and she doesn't think to stop it. "I'm the new assistant, and the email told me to come here first..."

"Chloe Beale?" Chloe's attention is pulled away from the receptionist, and instead to a woman standing in the middle of a nearby corridor. All Chloe can do is nod somewhat dumbly before the other woman beckons her over. "I'm Ashley, your tour guide and tutor for this morning, otherwise you'll find me in design." She introduces as they begin their journey deeper into Millennia.

The corridors between the reception and the desk Ashley stops at are small and filled with bodies wandering around with various books, fabrics, and paperwork. It's a similar hustle and bustle to the rest of the city, though more civilised and without the potent smell of coffee.

"This is your desk," Ashley continues, "computer, notebook, and calendar- anything you could need. Your work phone is just being sorted out by corporate." Chloe runs her finger over the notebook, embellished with Millennia's logo. It all feels so fancy, the opposite of the workplace her college professor had claimed they'd end up in. "You also need to sign some paperwork: non-disclosure, salary, and the usual. Plus, you need to sign your housing agreement, then you're set to go."

Chloe looks at the ominous document, flicking through the pages which are marked with Post-Its. When she checks that there isn't anything that immediately screams that she's being scammed, she signs on the dotted lines scattered about.

"I'll email you a copy, don't worry." Ashley's smile is contagious, and Chloe too smiles as she passes the paperwork back. "Welcome to Millennia, Chloe, now the craziness begins."

Chloe listens silently as Ashley explains about the work phone she'll gain, and how it's the way most of them contact one another- for work reasons or for being picked up late at night. The design department likes to party, apparently, and thankfully Chloe does too, because they'd be dragging her along when she has the chance.

"We occupy the 19th to 21st floors, and I can probably give you a quick tour- your resume says you've been an assistant before, so you can probably handle that side of things." Ashley mumbles the last section of her speech to herself, walking off to a staircase, Chloe following on her heel (the pain in her feet getting worse by the second).

Chloe nods along, "is there anything I really shouldn't do?"

"Jesse and Stacie will become more like friends than bosses if you have a decent personality, so don't do anything you wouldn't do to a regular boss- be aware of Stacie's fiancé though." Ashley recommends, "When you move in, you'll bond with everyone on the design team plus Emily, she's basically our little sister."

The rest of the tour is completed on a similar note: the design area is messy and loud, with music pumping out of a speaker system on the walls; PR and marketing is professional and well-organised, with photographs gracing the walls; and corporate is, well, corporate. It's a clash of different cultures, parts of the machine so different they work together, and Chloe would be lying if she said she wasn't excited to begin.

"I need you to go with Jessica, she's supposed to be pitching to Marie Claire this afternoon on Stacie's behalf- just make sure no one dies."

It was meant to be a joke, Chloe realises now, as all excitement dissipates from her body. Jesse was supposed to be joking about the fact that people could die, and yet Chloe feels like the scope of a sniper is directed straight at her as she sits in the lobby of Marie Claire beside a nervous Jessica.

"This is Stacie's test." Jessica's been speaking incessantly since a nice girl called Rose let them know that Marie Claire's editor in chief was running slightly late. "If I can pass this, I get a sub label. A sub label at 27, Chloe. That's insane!"

All Chloe can do is nod and smile in agreement. Ashley wasn't joking about Jesse throwing her into the deep end, and Jessica appears to be drowning. Quickly.

"Just take a deep breath," Chloe says. She's trying to be the reassuring colleague, but with Jessica's impending meltdown looming, she's letting herself fall into a mild panic. "In and out, in and—"

"Jessica she's ready for you." When Jessica stands up on shaky legs and slowly makes her way over to the blonde Brit standing in the entrance to a long corridor, Rose offers more encouragement, "You've got this, I promise." Chloe follows dutifully behind, offering words of encourage each time they get decidedly closer to their final destination.

Eventually, Rose pulls a glass door open.

Jessica apprehensively passes through the glass Rose is holding open, eyes stuck on the blonde woman seated behind a matching glass desk. Chloe stays two steps behind her, eyes trying to find Jesse in the midst of the room. He's not there to save them. Instead, calming flipping through what appears to be a draft copy of next month's Marie Claire is fashion's ice queen. Aubrey Posen.

Chloe notices that Jessica's stopped, and she too promptly comes to a halt a few metres away from the desk (and Jessica's 'test').

"Don't you have anything to set up?" Her tone is icy, syllables sharp enough to slice a young designer's hopes in two. Aubrey's eyes don't even leave the draft in front of her, and Chloe swallows at the definitive power gap between all three of them. "I haven't got all day."

Chloe gently runs her fingers over Jessica's shoulder blade, instilling confidence in an otherwise frightened woman, "It's evening wear, and I've seen the designs, you can do this," Chloe whispers. Jessica nods in response, swallowing and letting her bag fall from her shoulder. "Grab that wardrobe rack and believe in yourself." Chloe punctuates her sentence with a wink, igniting a fire within Jessica's gut.

Chloe shuffles her feet as Jessica gets the various aspects of her presentation ready: sketchbooks of designs in various states, gowns- both finished and in-progress- which hang elegantly from a rail, and a mood board of colour and jewel tones. Eventually, the redhead settles on the edge of the couch which sits in the corner of the office, eyes taking in Jessica's creations. They're each crafted impeccably, stitches curling together in order to keep their bonds tight.

Just as Jessica's running through her notes beside her dresses, Chloe watches out the corner of her eye as Aubrey sits down at the opposite end of the couch, crossing one leg over another and reaching out for a notebook and pen which are sitting on the coffee table positioned in front of them.

As soon as Chloe watches the fashion heavyweight lift her wrist up to check the time on her watch, she clears her throat. Jessica turns around immediately at the noise, shutting her notebook and flattening out the crinkles in her dress. "I don't want to waste your time, Ms. Posen," she begins to ramble, "I'll just show you what I have…"

"That is why we're here." Aubrey mutters, taking the cap off her pen and scribbling the date at the top of a new page- graceful cursive tattooing the porcelain paper. "Stacie said you have fresh ideas, yet I can't see any right now."

Jessica reaches for one of the garments on the rack, pulling it off and holding it from the bodice. "I've brought some pieces of embroidery for you to touch, if you want, in order to get up close to my work?"

"Don't question yourself, it makes you come across like you have no faith in your so-called talent."

Chloe offers two thumbs up to her colleague. Jesse had said that no one should die, but he hadn't explicitly said how cold Aubrey was. Yes, Marie Claire's editor in chief was known for being a cold-hearted bitch (and even a cunt on a few occasions) - a fact never hidden during her Project Runway appearances- though Chloe hadn't envisioned herself sliding closer to the arm of the couch with every passing second.

Before Jessica has the chance to respond, the door to the office opens, and a brunette strolls in with a coffee in hand. "You're so fucking picky, the barista had to try twice-" The new arrival's words trail off as her eyes move from Jessica to Chloe, "and I didn't know you had a meeting…" She places the takeout coffee cup down on the coffee table, eyes moving to the rack of dresses. "What are those?"

"Gowns, Mitchell," Aubrey replies, raising an eyebrow at her step-sister, "do you like them?"

Chloe exchanges a moment's gaze with Jessica, whose eyes scream with horror at the thought of a random brunette in ripped jeans, a baseball tee, and a pair of headphones around her neck weighing in on couture. Jessica remains rooted to the spot as 'Mitchell' flips through a glossy sketchbook filled with swatches and completed designs. None of the tension leaves the designer's body, especially as the small woman reaches out to one of her gowns and runs the embroidery through her fingers.

"They're pretty, I suppose," comes the final opinion, "it's the kind of thing Junkle would want for senior prom." She adjusts her laptop bag on her shoulder, eyes finding Chloe for a brief second before they refocus on Aubrey, "I need to get back to work, I hope I was of service." The orbs of ocean blue fall back to Chloe's face, and Mitchell swallows. "I'll see you for dinner Bree."

As quickly as she appeared, she's gone, and Chloe wrings her fingers whilst Jessica stands dumbfounded. The designer is about to open her mouth to question why the editor in chief of a magazine would be asking an alt-girl about fashion when Aubrey closes her notebook.

"How soon can you get four gowns done?" She asks as she stands up, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles out of her navy dress before crossing back over the office to her desk, coffee in hand.

Jessica's mouth opens and closes twice, "I'm sorry, did you say four?" Her eyes dart over to Chloe, whose smile stretches across her face. Aubrey nods in response, placing the Starbucks cup upon the glass. "To-um meet the Marie Claire standard I'd need at least four weeks per dress- plus tailoring, I-"

"Just give me a number, quickly."

"Three months." Jessica responds, worrying about the repercussions of her time constraints is an issue for later.

"Great." Aubrey sits down, "I'll email Jesse and work out the logistics, just email me your fifteen best designs and I'll pick four I want." She goes back to her previous task, "this meeting's finished now."

Chloe leaps up, just as Jessica starts to speak, "thank you so much for your time, Ms. Posen, I won't let you down." Aubrey waves her hand dismissively, phone already raised to her ear.

As they stand together in the elevator, Chloe looks at Jessica (who's only just begun breathing again), "I told you that you could do it." She pulls the designer in for a hug, offering support which can evidently be lacking in the industry. "Four gowns- that's amazing."

Jessica nods as she rests her head on Chloe's shoulder, "thank you so much for coming with me Chloe, we're gonna love having you around."

"This way." Jessica continues leading the way through the numerous corridors of the apartment complex she has led Chloe to.

Chloe's first day at work hadn't been all that bad: Jesse had left early to go to dinner with his friends, and Jessica had consequently grabbed Chloe as soon as he was out of sight so she could help Chloe get settled into the apartment. Because living with five other people she has never met before really appeals right now.

They pause outside a door, and Chloe watches Jessica fumble in her bag for what appears to be a key, which the more seasoned employee twists in the keyhole, the door swinging open for them. And then they're face to face with a shorter woman, who's in the middle of drinking from a mug of coffee.

"Oh, it's you." The other woman begins, "I thought the mafia was here to find me."

Her comment about the mafia doesn't appear to phase Jessica, who calmly steps over the boundary. "Just us, sorry Flo." Chloe gingerly follows her in. "Flo, this is Chloe – Jesse's new assistant. Chloe, this is Flo – head of PR for countries which use Spanish as an official language. She's technically undocumented, hence the mafia fears."

Chloe holds her hand out for Flo to shake, "nice to meet you." She's sincere; it is nice to meet someone who isn't walking around with a stick up their ass.

"Yo!" Flo calls into the apartment, "the new assistant is moving in!"

Within minutes, Chloe is seated on the couch, surrounded by her new roommates. Fat Amy, Cynthia Rose, Ashley, Jessica and Flo. Takeout is spread across the coffee table: three pizzas, a Chinese takeout container, and two salads. They each take turns in introducing themselves, and Chloe now knows her spot on the bathroom rota, and the chores rota, and which day's dinner she's responsible for sourcing and making.

"We need to do an initiation!" Amy proclaims, tapping her chin. "Let's take her to dinner tomorrow, Per Se at 8pm?"

"Oh Chloe," Jessica whispers, "you'll love this."

Whilst living with new people is something Chloe is accustomed to, this is obviously an entirely new arrangement. Though there's probably worse people for her to be living with, and she at least gets free dinner.

Beca haphazardly tosses her keys into the bowl in the entrance of her step-sister's apartment. They jingle against the other set already sitting within the ceramic fixture, and Beca then sets about removing her boots and coat- purposefully ignoring the slippers which have been left out for her, again.

"I hope you're okay with Chinese!" She yells into the apartment, before finishing to herself, "doesn't matter anyway, it's my turn to choose."

The bag swings gently forwards and backwards as she continues through to the kitchen, where she unceremoniously drops it on the island.

Her younger step-sister, Emily, looks up from her history textbook. "They're at the gym." Her eyes move to the bag of Chinese and back to her work, "Bree will flip shit if there isn't a salad in there."

"Not as much as she did when you changed your name." Beca counters, crossing the room to the fridge and getting out a can of Coca Cola. "Some guy got hit by that stapler."

Emily sighs, shaking her head and keeping her eyes focused on her homework, "we said we wouldn't bring that up again."

"Sorry," Beca opens the can and takes a sip, trying to hide the smirk playing on the edges of her lips, "how's school?"

"Another cheerleader offered me fifty bucks if I passed headshots on," Emily drops her pen, abandoning the Cuban Missile Crisis for a moment. "The usual."

Beca's hand goes to her step-sister's shoulder, offering affection where she'd normally say 'fuck them'. "You should tell her-"

"Oh my stars!" Emily interjects, pulling a paper bag of spring rolls from the top of the plastic bag. "I want the problem to be sorted, not blown out of proportion."

"What problem?" Both Beca and Emily look to the entrance of the kitchen, where Stacie walks in, freshly showered and dressed after the trip to the gym. She's closely followed by Aubrey, who moves to get a glass of water.

"No problem!" Emily smiles widely, "just excited about finishing this essay." She picks her pen up again and continues scribbling in her notepad.

Beca rolls her eyes. For someone so dead set on getting through life with little help, she was quite annoyed that Emily refused any kind of help. Part of the reason she'd pushed so hard for her own freedom from her father was so she could set an example- nothing should hold you back.

"You got me a salad, right?" Aubrey asks, pulling her hair tie out and shaking golden locks free. "Because that smells like Chinese."

"Yes, I got you a salad." Beca responds, taking the greenery encased in plastic out of the bag, "you're welcome." She slides it along the island for Emily's sister to inspect before she takes another swig of her Coca Cola. "Who was that redhead earlier?"

Stacie, picking up cutlery from them all, answers, "Chloe, Jesse's new assistant."

"She's cute."

Aubrey turns to face the shorter woman, disbelief coating her features. "You're kidding, right? She's an assistant."

"And you're a judgemental bitch." Beca challenges, "it's not like it's an issue."

Emily picks a spring roll up from the bag, "stapler." She catches sight of Aubrey in the corner of her eye and promptly stuffs the greasy food into her mouth. "Forget I said anything."

Stacie sits down beside Emily, opening her own meal, "let's not worry about it until it happens, alright? We all have jobs to do."

Beca steals one of the spring rolls from Emily's bag, "oh, I need to take Emily out of school next week to get down a demo for one of the songs I'm writing for Disney."

"No way." Aubrey responds, "Her education comes first, I promised dad that in return for her moving here."

Beca rolls her eyes, "She doesn't want to go to school, Bree, haven't you noticed that?" Her voice rises another decibel, "She's an eighteen-year-old; she can decide if she wants to be in hell every day or not!" Emily shrinks in her seat, pulling her jacket over her face. "How about you ask her about her day, hmm? Instead of coming home and complaining about some bullshit with very little significance to the outside world, why don't you ask your baby sister what's actually going on?"

"Beca, don't." Stacie interjects, dead-set on keeping the peace between the step-family, "a week before fashion week is not the time."

"She's fucking miserable, Stacie." Beca yells.

Emily pipes up from outside the argument, "I'm fine Beca, I promise, I'll come and record in the evening." She looks down at her work, "I just wanted us to have dinner together, as a family."

Chaos is synonymous with Aubrey and Beca beneath the same roof, and Stacie hates to watch them fall into ruin whenever Emily tries to get her sister and step-sister to get along for once. Between the fashion powerhouse and juxtaposing music producer, there lies little common ground, and it always proves too much.

Beca turns around, making her way back out of the apartment and slamming the door behind her. She leans against the hardwood on the other side, taking a deep breath. Just for once, she wishes that she and Aubrey could get along. Just once.

Her hand fishes out her phone, pressing down speed dial one- she needs to get her mind off things.